


Let yourself fall ill

by soondubu



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2019-09-13 08:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soondubu/pseuds/soondubu
Summary: There are many ways to heal a broken heart, and Joonmyun may have chosen the most difficult one for himself.





	Let yourself fall ill

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a quote from [Rumi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rumi). _“If you desire healing/let yourself fall ill/let yourself fall ill.”_

Joonmyun was surprised by how sweet Minseok’s come was, considering all the meat he’d eaten at dinner. Of course, there was no real knowing what he ate whenever they weren’t together. He tried to tell himself it didn’t bother him; Minseok’s life was Minseok’s, and he was forging his own path through life, too. Yet he couldn’t help the feeling that, sometimes, spending more than the occasional dinner and night over with someone might actually be kind of nice. It would never work, though.

As he laid down beside Minseok, Joonmyun tried to keep his heart light. There was an entire galaxy of thoughts and worries orbiting him, illuminating dark parts he only wished he were good at hiding. His head hit the pillow at the precise moment Minseok sat up, and Joonmyun couldn’t stop the small sound of protest. “Relax,” Minseok said, laughing. “I’m just going to the bathroom.” Joonmyun flushed red in the darkness, and waited for the reassuring kiss to his forehead that never came.

Unseeing eyes turned up towards the ceiling, and lungs let go of a tiny sigh. He always felt his apartment was quietest in these moments—not in that comforting, winter-quiet sort of way, with snow falling outside, a mug of hot tea in one hand and a good book in the other. It was that deafening sort of quiet, where every tap or drip or thump _could_ have been sounds of another life in the apartment…but never was because Joonmyun lived alone. Hearing the noises Minseok made—padding down the hall, flushing the toilet, running the faucet—was nice. For those few minutes he was gone, Joonmyun could almost imagine what it might be like to do something like this every night. It let him find a near-satisfaction in the time they’d spent together, even if, in the back of his mind, he knew he’d be the only one hanging onto a phone number.

Minseok returned just before the burning in Joonmyun’s eyes became too much. He ducked down at the side of the bed, searching blindly for a moment. The city lights filtering in through the window shone just bright enough for Joonmyun to watch Minseok stand up again and start pulling on his shirt. Before he could stop himself, Joonmyun called a gentle, “Hey.” Minseok slowed the way he was straightening the hem, but he didn’t pause. “Leaving already?” Joonmyun tried to joke. It was hard to sound convincing with the way his throat was tightening.

“I’ve got work in the morning,” Minseok said. “Don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and bent down again to find more of his clothes.

“What if we just took a sick day?” His forced laughter was ugly, and made his joking even harder to swallow. “Maybe had breakfast together, too. You know, I’m an all right cook when I want to be.”

Even in the dim light the pitying look on Minseok’s face was clear as day. Joonmyun felt like an idiot. “You’re a really nice guy, Joonmyun.” He already didn’t want to hear any of this. “And _clearly_ you know what you’re doing…” He definitely didn’t want to hear this. “But it’s just…it’s not like that.”

Joonmyun expected there to be more. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been let down too gently by someone. In fact, it was something he’d gotten almost accustomed to. It had been almost a year since anyone had wanted to stay more than a few hours. Maybe they could smell the desperation on him and were afraid it was catching. It was normal though, wasn’t it? People felt things all the time that they never talked about. Joonmyun had learned how to bury things. It had only taken him two months after the break-up to convince himself he was back in control, ninety percent of the time. But deep down, where that other ten percent lived, all the cracks still showed and the glue leaked out between them, refusing to set or dry.

“I know,” he said at last. His voice was as parched as his throat, tongue sticking a little to the roof of his mouth as he spoke. “But I’m asking you to stay the night anyway.”

Minseok was motionless as he observed him. Joonmyun could feel his eyes crawling over his skin, trying to make out his expression in the dark. He wondered why he didn’t just reach for the lamp, except it was clear enough that they were both afraid of what they might see in each other’s face. Joonmyun kept watching the ceiling instead, giving another shaky sigh as if it might help to steady him. It was almost funny how vulnerable he felt, and the way that it had so little to do with his nudity. A cotton sheet was hardly modest, but it was the way he’d lain himself so bare with his words that was the real tragedy. Two sentences was all it had taken. He’d felt the mood shift into place with an almost audible _click_. But what he didn’t expect was for Minseok to kneel down again to find Joonmyun’s boxer-briefs and toss them onto his chest. They both hesitated for several beats before Joonmyun moved to slip them on. Then, wordlessly, Minseok slipped back beneath the sheets beside him.

Although it was warm, the feeling of soft cotton between his back and Minseok’s chest was still somewhat sterile. A hand much more callused than his own pressed flat against his stomach while the other sought a comfortable place beneath the pillow. Reluctantly, Joonmyun laid his own hand over Minseok’s, fingers splayed and still nervous he might change his mind—especially if he tried to hold on too tightly. It was impossible to remain in control when Minseok tucked in a little closer though, and pressed his nose to the back of Joonmyun’s neck. The gentle warmth of this breathing was too familiar and nostalgic. The tears that welled up were instantaneous and unstoppable.

It only got worse as he tried to hold in his sobs. His tears were silent, but the way his body tensed to hold in everything else pulled a reaction from Minseok. He held Joonmyun closer, arm tight around his middle in a way that almost seemed like it was trying to get him to stop holding back. It wasn’t until a whispered _it’s okay_ curled around his ear that Joonmyun lost the battle. Tears became a torrent but at least he rolled over just quickly enough so that even the first sob was caught and stifled by the pillow.

Joonmyun was surprised by how gentle Minseok could be, considering how aloof he’d seemed at dinner. He easily followed Joonmyun as he rolled over, chest firm and strong against his back. He wouldn’t be thrown by the trembling or hitching of breaths. He let Joonmyun thread fingers between his and squeeze until it hurt. And when he was finally ready to come up for air, Minseok slid back only enough to let him breathe. He wasn’t composed of course, and he didn’t need a mirror to tell him how ugly he’d made himself with his crying. The room was still dark though and he was facing away. Besides, a part of that wet-glue ten percent told him that if Minseok was bothered by red, puffy eyes and a face full of snot, he wouldn’t have encouraged it in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun whispered. His voice still shook although he’d almost gotten his body to stop. Minseok squeezed him again. A ghost of a kiss brushed the back of his head then, and Minseok pulled away. If he wasn’t already so tired from his outburst, Joonmyun might have started the cycle over. The fear never really ebbed as completely as he wanted it to, and something in Minseok made it even more reluctant to leave. Or maybe he’d just finally hit his limit of dealing with this on his own. Before he could try to ask again for Minseok to stay, he was back, with tissues.

“Here,” he said, offering a couple and curling the rest into the fist he settled back at Joonmyun’s waist. Joonmyun was grateful not just for the offer but for the fact that he didn’t have anything left in him but an awkward, embarrassed laugh. It took almost all the tissue he’d brought for Joonmyun to feel like he’d cleaned up even a little. Even so, his face continued to burn with shame, disappointment, and a touch of resentment.

“I’ve been dealing with some things this year,” Joonmyun said. His words and voice were careful, if still thick with lingering emotion. It wasn’t like that, but something in the way Minseok stayed… “Someone very dear to me decided he’d gotten tired of lying to everyone. Decided I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore, after three years together.” A rueful laugh left him then, a huff of laughter that was at once ashamed and angry. “How do you just _forget_ three years of your life ever happened? How are you supposed to pretend you don’t notice the void left behind by a person you’d come to think was always going to be there, filling it?”

There was a long silence in which Joonmyun focused on his breathing and the fist pressed against his gut. “Who’s saying you have to?” Minseok said delicately but with genuine curiosity. “If it’s something that hurts, shouldn’t you feel it? If you ignore the pain of a broken bone, even though it eventually heals, it might not work properly anymore.”

Joonmyun swallowed loudly. Minseok shifted a little closer and his hand moved up to curl near Joonmyun’s heart instead. Unfortunately, there was no way he could control the way it sped up again, flustered and anxious at being received at all in a position like this. Ninety percent of him wished Minseok had just left like he’d wanted to. Ten percent of him was still weeping. “There’s no time or place to feel it,” Joonmyun said. His own attempt at being delicate was, at best, a mockery of Minseok’s. He hesitated. “I teach at an elementary school.”

“Where you work isn’t who you are.” Minseok abandoned the remaining tissue and brought his hand up to comb fingers through Joonmyun’s hair. Joonmyun wished he wouldn’t. “I’m a vocal instructor. Because I never made the cut.”

He couldn’t help but feel fickle as his heart began to close off again in the wake of Minseok’s confession. He’d wanted him to stay the night. He’d wanted a warm body to sleep beside and to wake up to. He was less certain that what he actually wanted was a person to start confiding in again. Minseok at least didn’t seem as bothered by Joonmyun’s sudden quiet as Joonmyun had been by his attempt at a swift departure. He carded fingers through his hair a few more times before settling his hand back over Joonmyun’s stomach.

As the minutes passed, the silence grew lighter while Minseok’s breathing grew heavier. He was the first to fall asleep, and the rise and fall of his chest along Joonmyun’s back made it easier to moderate his own breathing. He was relieved, in a strange way, when Minseok’s grip around his middle didn’t falter even after he was out. Joonmyun fished the tissues out from his fingers and dropped them off the side of the bed with the others, crumpled but unused. Minseok stirred a little, but when he didn’t wake Joonmyun decided not to press his luck any further. It was warm enough with a body wrapped around him again, knees bent to match the angle of his own. For the first time that night he didn’t simply notice but _appreciate_ how similar he and Minseok were in shape and size. One ankle tucked between his in a way that hinted Minseok was not as asleep as he pretended. Yet it anchored him, surely and comfortably, in the reality of this one-bedroom apartment that was now his alone. The tickling of Minseok’s breathing against his shoulder, soft but still loud enough to overwhelm the silence, was the lullaby that at last helped him to sleep.

And in the morning, when he woke, Minseok would be gone already. His bedroom would be tidy, tissues gone and clothes tucked into the laundry hamper. The bathroom floor would still be wet and slick from the shower Minseok had taken. But there would be rice in the cooker, still hot, and a note stuck to the fridge.

 

_What happens when people open their hearts?  
They get better._

_Let me know what you’re doing next Sunday. —Minseok_

**Author's Note:**

> Minseok’s note is taken from _Norwegian Wood_ by Haruki Murakami.


End file.
